


Fading In

by HopefulNebula



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Community: heroes_fest, Family, Family Secrets, Future Fic, Gen, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-08
Updated: 2012-11-08
Packaged: 2017-11-18 05:16:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/557274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HopefulNebula/pseuds/HopefulNebula
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Monty spends an afternoon at Peter's apartment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fading In

**Author's Note:**

> I originally wrote this for heroes_fest in 2008. It's set several years in the future of the Heroes-verse (Monty is 13). In this fic, the major plot elements of the show have been resolved.

My mom thinks I'm staying late at school to work on a group project.

Yeah, like _that_ 's gonna happen. I spend too much time there already. My _real_ plan is to take the subway to Peter's apartment and make it home by dinner.

The beautiful thing is, I don't even have to give myself away by using my MetroCard.

* * *

Peter opens the door about a second after I knock.

"Monty! Um, hi." He takes a second to look at me. "I'm not going to bother asking if your mom knows you're here. What's the matter?"

See, _this_ is why I like Uncle Peter.

I step inside and he closes the door behind me without ever actually touching it.

That's the other cool thing about Peter. He might not tell me _everything_ , but after I caught him defrosting dinner with his bare hands a couple years ago, he's told me a whole damn lot more than my parents have. I know about Peter. I know what my dad can do (which pisses me off: you'd think that since he can _fly_ he could visit more, but whatever), I know about Claire, I know about Matt, and I'm pretty sure I know about half of what nobody ever explained to me when I was a little kid. And even before Peter asked me to keep the secret, I knew I'd never tell my idiot brother.

Okay. Not thinking about him right now. Moving on.

I make sure Peter's watching and do my thing.

He doesn't react. At all.

"You didn't see anything just now?"

"No. Should I ha-- wait a second. You're invisible, aren't you?"

"Um..." OK. Now would be a really great time to remember what I was going to say.

"Yeah. I can still see you because I've been turning invisible since you were six, but invisible people still look different." He closes his eyes for a second and he looks brighter, more in focus. "Now we're even. Want a Mountain Dew or something?"

Oh, good. A question I can answer. "Sure."

I sit and go visible again -- it's kind of tiring to keep it up for too long -- and I can see the difference from the other side now. He looks faded, but I can definitely see him. Peter grabs a can from the fridge and and a cup from the cabinet and hands them to me. I open the can and pour most of the soda into it.

"So. How'd you find out?"

"Lunch on Monday. Chase 'accidentally' dropped baked beans on my head, which I could have dealt with, if Olivia hadn't been right there and started laughing with everybody else." He nods, but doesn't say anything about how this is just my awkward phase and how I need to toughen up. Thank God. "I went to the bathroom to clean up and some guys walked in laughing about how funny I looked with beans on my face. Looked right through me. I knew they knew me, but they kept talking."

He nods. "Fair enough. You wanted to disappear, so you did. Cool, isn't it?" I nod. "So I take it you're here for advice on how to control yourself?"

"Uh huh." Also because if I didn't have anyone to talk to about this, I'd go absolutely bugnuts, but I'm not about to say that part aloud.

"Well, the really cool thing about invisibility is that once you get used to it, it's like flipping a switch and things just _feel_ different one way or the other. It's easy to control once you know where to find the switch, and it seems like you already have, so it's really just a matter of practice." He thinks for a second. "You can do more than just that, though. Can I borrow your can?"

"OK."

He pulls the can of Mountain Dew across the table telekinetically. Peter's liked to show off like that since I told him just how cool his powers are.

"The only real limit is that you have to be touching something to make it invisible." And the color of the can fades, like someone playing with the saturation in Photoshop. Peter's stayed visible, though.

Well. There are only about five hundred things I could do with _that_.

"You try." He shoves the can over to me, using his hands this time, and I catch it. "And by the way, if you use your powers for evil, I'll tell--"

"You are _not_ telling my mother." Damn mindreading.

" _Oh_ no. You use this to hurt people, I'm telling _my_ mother."

Well. There goes _that_ plan, then.

"There is, however, nothing wrong with nice, clean poetic justice as long as you don't start harassing people and nobody gets hurt." I can work with that. "Anyway, try it."

I grab the can and focus on making it invisible. It fades just like it did before, and I'm halfway into smiling when I notice that the table's not as bright either. And neither is Peter. I snap back and try again.

"It took me a while, too," he says. "Cl-- the guy I got the invisibility from forced me to figure it out by stealing things and handing them to me. Well, I'm not doing that." Aren't I lucky?

I roll my eyes and try again. This time it feels easier, but I still have that switch set to "all on."

"Try focusing it out your fingers. Think of it like... think of it like my electricity, like something you _do_ instead of something that happens to you."

And the third time, it works.

See? _This_ is why I like Peter. He knows how to talk to me in ways that actually _work_. Everybody likes to talk about how I can always come to them for help. Peter's the only adult I've met who I can actually talk to. He's the one who knows what it's like to hear "Petrelli, eh? Well, I'll be expecting great things from you" and not be able to live up to those great things.

And he's the one who notices that I'll have to leave now if I want to make it home without Mom asking way too many questions.

The last thing he says before closing the door is "Oh -- try ice cubes. For your poetic justice. Your mom keeps a thermos under the sink."

I like that idea. It has possibilities.

I think this week's gotten a whole lot better in the last half hour. And so has my life.


End file.
